The Difference Between the Horses on the Carousel
by Millie Bates
Summary: Human!AU "Can you tell me the difference between the horses on the carousel?" Ivan asked. Yao looked at the horses and shook his head before saying, "I mean, that one is blue and that one is purple. That one has a broken hoove but that one is still in one piece. I don't really know." Ivan smiled. Just smiled that smile. Rochu. ALSO: Abusive!2p!France (not main focus)
1. Chapter 1

_"I took one of the boys to the park one day, and it wasn't here, it was south of here, because I didn't live here at the time. This park, and I don't know if it's like this anymore, but it had a merry-go-round in the center, and I'm just standing there and I can see the boy playing on the slide, and this man dressed in __a nice hat and a business suit comes up to me and starts talking to me about the carousel. And then, in his business suit and all, he gets up on the carousel and he rides it! In his __business suit! And he's telling me all these things about them while he's on the horse and I'm just standing there thinking to myself **this man is crazy!**"_

* * *

><p>They held a Greek Festival every year in the parking lot of the Greek Episcopal Church beside the river next to the old park. They had it in the beginning of November. Yao was on his way there now. He didn't go every year, just once actually, but he had seen it on the local news a few times. It was always a slow week for news here. Not that the Greek Festival wasn't interesting. They had good food and the people were friendly. A little too friendly sometimes.<p>

It wasn't Yao's idea to go to the festival. It was Kiku, his younger brother, who had asked him to drive him here. From what he could tell, he had a friend who was Greek. Hercules or something along those lines was his name. He had met the guy once or twice while visiting Kiku on the weekends. The teen had just happened to be staying over those weekends, he guessed. He seemed nice.

Yao parked his junky car in the closest parking space to the entrance. He heard Kiku get out first. "Yao, you have left something on your car," Kiku said, throwing a _Mimi's Silk Road _sign onto the passenger seat.

Yao worked with his cousin, Xiao Mei, who owned _Mimi's Silk Road_. They served Chinese food. You probably guessed that, though. He did a little bit of everything. Cooking, cleaning, serving, working the register. And delivering. That's why the hideous yellowed sign was still on top of his busted green car. "Thanks, Kiku," he said, hopping out of the vehicle and slamming the door behind him.

The festival was the same as last year. Besides being so cloudy, I mean. But the festival couldn't help that. There was a tent on the end where they had Greek food to try, a tent to the left where you could buy some odd goats milk soap that wouldn't lather if you scrubbed it against steel wool. Or you could buy loud, obnoxious scarves with cheap clanging bits of metal sewn onto the ends. He figured they were supposed to look cool. They definitely would to an American. Look cool, that is.

To the right were some tents set up with tables underneath them for sitting and enjoying food. Yao avoided that area completely. Too many people. Something about so many people bothered him.

"Kiku! Come here, I want you to meet some people," a boy said. He gave Kiku a lazy smile, then gave Yao a nod. Yao squinted. How old was this kid, anyways? He looked like he was seventeen. Kiku was only fourteen. But he remembered something Kiku said about the kid being in his class at school. Maybe Kiku was small for his age, he didn't know. Maybe goats milk had some kind of insane growing properties. The Greeks seemed to put it in everything. At least they did that here. Maybe not in the actual country.

"Hey, Yao, I'm going to go with Heracles." Oh, his name was Heracles. "Is that alright?"

Yao nodded. He wasn't his parent or anything. And what could happen to Kiku in a church parking lot, anyways?

Yao buried his nose into the mint green scarf that he was forced to take one time from an old lady at the Monastery he visited occasionally. He hadn't been there in a while. It was best not to dwell on that, though. The scarf smelled like an old woman's face cream. It wasn't too bad, actually.

Oh, damn, they were dancing now. For some reason, the Greeks here really liked to dance. He had somehow gotten roped into it last year, and at first he thought "wow, that looks really easy! Such an easy step!" but once he got into the circle of dancers, it was hell. The dance was more difficult than it looked and he wasn't getting into that again. Besides all that, it was getting louder in the parking lot.

He didn't even think about it. He started to escape to the old park next to the church.

Yao had been to the park many times for random reasons. Once for Kiku's fifth birthday, and then there was a time after that where he climbed up one of the trees and tried to drink an entire bottle of whiskey and was arrested for public intoxication. He hadn't meant to do it. He had just been so exhausted and you know what? He wasn't going to think about that.

The park was about a five minute walk, give or take a few seconds. But it was still the closest thing to the church, so it was next to the church. Technically. The park was very old. This was just something he had picked up on. When you live somewhere for a while you pick things up on the place and you don't know when, how, or where you picked this information up but you definitely did and seem to know it by heart.

The park was built during the early 1920's and was popular up until the 1950's. By the time 1960 rolled around, the park had fallen from it's former glory. It used to sport a skating rink, a ferris wheel, and races in the small lake near the center of the park. There were boats, too, if you wanted to go out on the lake without getting in the water. There was a restaurant of some sort, probably one with burgers, fries, and shakes. Disgusting things like that. But the restaurant was gone now. There was a rectangle of dirt and broken concrete where it had once stood. The skating rink at the top of the hill was now in ruin. The ferris wheel was long gone. And the water in the lake had half dried up and was a rotten green colour. Frankly, it rank of geese shit. The idea of someone actually swimming in that water made Yao's stomach lurch.

I mean, it hadn't always been like that. But it was now.

Finally, last but not least, was the abandoned carousel in the center of the park beside the skating rink ruins. Yao always went for the carousel. It was without a doubt the most beautiful thing left in the park, especially now in November when the flowers were out of bloom.

The carousel was wooden and made specifically for the park. Initials were placed in a pattern on the very top of the carousel. Yao didn't know what the intials stood for. It honestly didn't matter at all. Probably the intials of the person who donated the carousel to the park. The carousel had three rows of horses. There were carriages and things like that on carousels usually, but not on this one. It was all horses. Each horse was a different vibrant colour that made up an entire colour wheel.

By colour wheel, I mean that the red horse came after the orange, and the orange after the yellow, and so on. They were designed with multiple other colours though, too, and gold painted designs with radiant saddles. They must have been much more beautiful when they were new, but now, so much of the paint had been chipped away. Nearly all of the gold was gone.

People probably chipped it away in hopes that it was real gold or something stupid like that. They chipped at it selfishly, taking away the beauty, and this is what remained. Yao could relate to each of the chipped horses. He felt their pain.

Yao shook away his thoughts. The carousel. Yes, he was thinking about that. The carousel was truly inspiring. It was hard to explain it. There was so much detail to every part of it. It would have taken him hours to actually study each part of the carousel. Whoever painted it deserved better. They put so much time and effort into painting the carousel, and now look at it. Old. Abandoned. Parts of it were broken, too. There were broken ears. Broken noses. Broken hooves.

Yao wiped his nose on the back of his glove. Thank goodness the wind wasn't picking up. It was pretty chilly out as it was and his nose was probably cherry red by now. He probably looked like he had been crying. Great. He took his phone out of his pocket. Oh, fucking great.

Francois had sent him five texts. He knew he shouldn't have had his phone on silent. They all were along the lines of "where are you". That wasn't surprising. He texted back saying "with Kiku. Be home soon".

He slid his phone back into his coat pocket and looked back up at the carousel. He wished he could just stay here. He would rather stay out in the cold than go home. He seriously thought about living on the carousel. I mean, it had a roof and everything. What more could you want? Oh yeah. A bathroom. Showers. Water. Heating. Those things were pretty important.

Yao stepped closer to the carousel and touched the tip of a broken horses ear. It wasn't fair. Tears brimmed in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he whispered to the horse.

"You like carousels, da?"

"Ah! Er . . . uh?" Shoot. How was he supposed to explain himself talking to this fake horse? _Oh don't mind me, just comforting a fake horse! _He whipped his head around to face the man.

Yao had expected some coke-snorting homeless man in a dirty grey hat. This was the exact opposite. I mean, it was almost funny. He almost laughed at it, but then the man would have thought he was laughing at him, and this man was huge. He could probably knock out Yao in one swing. He must have been 6'8".

You know how people exaggerate when they tell stories? This was no exaggeration. He was huge. The more Yao thought about it, the more frightened he became.

Yeah, he was dressed nice. He wore a suit, a nice coat, a long scarf, and nice shoes, but even that was weird apparel for a park. Maybe he was a serial killer. Who hangs out in an old park at six in the evening without kids, anyway? Oh wait.

"I was just noticing the way you are watching the carousel," the man said. He had a thick, Russian accent and he was smiling. His smile was both comforting and bone-chilling. Yao kept his hand on his phone in case he needed to whip it out to call the police.

"No," Yao said with a nervous smile plastered to his lips, "You're fine. I was just looking at it. It's nice." The man started to walk towards him and his shoulders sank. Well, he was dead. No time to call the police now. But instead of the man choking him to death, he walked past him and stepped onto the carousel.

"Um, sir," Yao began nervously, "I don't think you're supposed to be on the carousel. You might break it or-" He stopped when the man started laughing. Was he laughing at Yao? The smaller man crossed his arms. Who did he think he was? Yao opened his mouth to complain but was cut off by the man's booming voice.

"Did you know carousels evolved? Originally, in medieval Europe, men would go around in a circle on horseback and throw a ball around. This was part of training, as it was difficult to do," he said. The fact was pretty odd. Yao didn't know what to say, so he just said "Oh."

The man dusted off the control panel on the carousel. Yao cupped his hands nervously. "Uh, sir, please be careful."

The man didn't listen. His fingers dragged over a few of the buttons nonchalantly.

"This sort of carousel comes from 17th century France. Children wanted to participate in these adult games but couldn't because they were too little. So fake horses that went in a circle were built. Far less dangerous." The man blew into the keyhole to the left of the panel. Yao watched him take something out of his pocket and push it into the keyhole.

"Oh, that's, uh, interesting. What is your name again?"

The man twisted the makeshift key. "Again? You didn't ask for my name in the first place. My name is Ivan. What is yours?" Ivan whispered something about the carousel to himself. At least Yao wasn't the only one who talked to carousels.

"Yao," he said, stepping up onto the platform so he could see what Ivan was doing. He was fiddling with one of the buttons.

"Ah. Yao. That is a beautiful name, Yao," Ivan said.

"Thank you," Yao said hesitantly. Ivan gave the 'key' a sharp turn and pushed up on a small lever.

For a split second, the lights on the carousel flicked on and the tinkling sound of circus music rang out from a red box on the ceiling. It was gone as soon as it came, though. Ivan laughed and said, "This has many problems that need to be fixed." Yes, that was very obvious. It didn't turn on for more than two seconds. Yao was surprised it worked at all.

"That was impressive, though, Ivan. I'm surprised you got it to work even for that long," he said. Ivan grinned and shoved his hands in his coat pockets.

"Thank you. I design carousels, actually. I come see this one every now and then. It's a beautiful piece, da?"

"Da. I mean yes! Yes is what I said." Yao's face burned. Damn, he was stupid. He hoped he didn't seem like he was mocking the man. Suddenly, Yao felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out so quickly that he dropped it onto the platform at first. He pushed the green button on the screen. "Hello?"

_"Where the fuck are you? I still can't believe you are . . . . " _

Francois' voice droned on. He expected Ivan to be watching him, but instead he was trying to jiggle the 'key' out of the keyhole. "Francois, I really can't talk. There are people here. I'll be home soon."

_"You better be home soon or I'll . . . "_

"I will. I will. Please stop. Yes, yes, I'm sorry this is taking so long. I'll be back by 6:30. No, I can't. I'm broke. Please stop yelling. I can't! I can't! How many times do I have to- Francois? Ugh." Yao rubbed his forehead. "I've got to go, Ivan. It was nice meeting you."

"Yao, can you tell me the difference between the horses?"

Yao's eyebrows furrowed. "What?" He jumped off the platform and looked up at Ivan.

"Can you tell me the difference between the horses on the carousel?"

Yao looked at the horses and shook his head before saying, "I mean, that one is blue and that one is purple. That one has a broken hoove but that one is still in one piece. I don't really know." Ivan smiled. Just smiled that smile. Yao watched his purple eyes with curiosity. He figured he wasn't going to get the answer to that cryptic question afterall.

"Yao, this carousel may be difficult to put back together, but it can be done," Ivan said. Yao folded his arms across his chest. "Are you sure? It's so broken. Look at it again."

Ivan didn't look away from Yao. "I know it will be difficult. But I think in the end, it will be worth it." Ivan stepped down. "I'm going to come here next Sunday and try a little harder to get this machine to work."

Yao pursed his lips. "Was that an invitation?"

Ivan didn't answer. He flashed a smile and started off for the parking lot. Yao watched him until he got into his car and drove off. It was a far nicer car than his own, but judging from the way he dressed, he had a much better job than Yao did.

Half the population had a better job than Yao did, actually.

He looked down at his phone, which was blowing up thanks to Francois, and checked the time. 6:07. He'd better go, he decided. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with one of Francois' tantrums.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


	2. Chapter 2

"I left him once, but I came back. **He wasn't very good to me . . . **"

* * *

><p>Yao was renting his current house. It was on the corner of a slightly busy street, but it wasn't too bad. You couldn't hear the cars driving by usually.<p>

It was an older house, built sometime in the 1940's. Yao hadn't actually picked this house out, but Francois liked it, and he was never in the mood to argue with Francois, so he let the house he wanted go and accepted this one. The house gave him the creeps sometimes. It was one floor with an unfinished basement and a weird little attic room. There was a garage, too, but they didn't go in there often. Maybe it was two floors. He wasn't sure if the room in the attic counted as a second floor. I mean, it was a nice room.

Not that he went up there very much. There were two places he hated going. The basement and the room in the attic. The basement made him very uneasy for some reason and the room in the attic made a darkness settle in him. At least they were renting and didn't have to stay here forever.

I mean, don't get me wrong, it was nice. The first story had all wood floors and tile in the kitchen. There was a cute fireplace next to the front door. The bathroom was nice. The two bedrooms on the bottom floor were bright and lovely.

But still, he had to go in the basement to do the laundry because it might kill Francois to do his own laundry, and he dreaded laundry day.

Today wasn't laundry day. Good. But he still had to face Francois.

Francois was Yao's boyfriend. Yao had a friend a few of years ago who had suggested a double date. This is how Francois entered Yao's life. They had went to some cheap Italian restaurant and bonded over a bottle of red wine. Yao thought Francois was an interesting guy with a steady job. He didn't smile much ever, but he was generally friendly and just seemed like he would be good to be in a relationship with. He was attractive, with deep blue eyes and well kept blond hair. And he was smart, too. He was a pharmicist when they first met, but he had quit that job about a year ago.

He had money, though.

Let me tell you how Francois got his money. Yao had always known where Francois's infinite supply of cash came from. While he was at the pharmacy, he stole drugs and sold them. But he quit that job when he found a new, less dangerous way to make money.

Francois had a half-brother named Matthew who lived in Quebec City. Matthew was sixteen, if he remembered correctly. Matthew's father, who was not the father of Francois, had passed away when Matthew was just eight years old. Since then, Matthew had been living in a foster home. When his father died, he left Matthew 30,000 dollars, which Francois was to hold until Matthews eighteenth birthday.

Every time they went to the bank, Yao kept his mouth shut as Francois withdrew Matthew's money and casually shoved it into his own wallet. There were a few times when Yao had begun to dial Matthew's number to tell him what his brother was doing to him, but he was honestly afraid. He knew Matthew would confront Francois about it, and Francois would know who told.

Yao turned his car off and looked at the house. The dread of going inside made him sick. The light in the living room was on and the front door was open. He got out of his car, locked it, and made his way inside. Maybe Francois had fallen asleep by now.

Yeah right. He wasn't that lucky. Yao would be lucky if he was even sober right now. He locked the front door behind him and set his keys down on the kitchen table.

"Where the fuck were you? It's 6:50."

He was not lucky tonight. He looked at Francois. He was wearing a white shirt and dirty grey sweatpants. In his right hand he clutched an unlabeled bottle of whiskey. Francois always bought his liquor from some sketchy man who pretended to sell tomatoes and squash at the farmers market downtown. It was cheaper, he said. Yao wasn't even sure what was in the homemade Whiskey.

"It took me some time to convince Kiku to leave. Then I had to drop him off," he said, not looking at Francois. He could barely stand to look at him when he was drunk. He smelled bad, too, like stale piss and, of course, alcohol.

"Did you bring home something to eat?"

Yao sighed. "I told you I couldn't. I'm broke."

"And I told you to pick some food up. Where the fuck did your money go? You just got paid."

"I only make $600 a month. I had to pay half of that for rent. Then I had to pay my phone bill. And gas. And half of what was left to electricity. I have 90 dollars left, but I need to save it for more gas and a birthday present for Mei," Yao said. "Honestly, I know you have money, so you can go buy yourself something to eat."

Francois sighed. He made sure to make it loud enough for Yao to hear. "I don't have any money right now," the blond said from his chair.

"Did you already bleed Matthew dry?" he accidentally said. He hoped Francois hadn't heard that. He hadn't meant to let that little remark slip. Damn. He almost thought he had gotten away with it. Almost. When he felt hot breath on his neck, he knew he hadn't.

"What the _fuck _did you just say?"

Oh, shit. Yao backed into the refridgerator, accidentally slammed into the handle, and opened the first door he saw, which happened to be the one to the basement, since the door to the basement was next to the refridgerator. He shut the door as soon as he opened it.

He would rather face Francois than the basement. He turned to face the taller man, who was too close for comfort. His breath reeked of cheap cigarettes, cherry swisher sweets, and liquor. Yao stared at his teeth with a grimace. They didn't look yellow, exactly. They looked faded. His lips were cracked and thinner than they had been when he first met the Frenchman. Yao didn't know who this man was. This wasn't the man he had fallen for.

"I, er, I didn't-"

"Don't give me that shit," he said. "Say it. You've got me right here. Say it, goddammit."

Yao's gaze fell. He had reached an empass. This happened often. Nothing he could say or do would save him from this situation. He had learned the hard way that it was best to stay silent.

Francois chuckled bitterly, lips curling up into a mocking sneer. "You're such a pussy. Sometimes I forget you're a man. A real man would have repeated himself instead of cowering against the fucking wall."

Yao was shaking now. "It doesn't matter what I do," he said.

Francois stopped smiling. He looked into Yao's eyes, but Yao looked away. Not only was it disgusting; it was sad. Those blue eyes had seemed so kind at first and now they only made him feel nauseous. Yao wasn't surpised when Francois grabbed his face and forced his prying eyes into his own.

"Do you hate me, Yao?"

Yes. Yes. So much. He hated him with every fiber of his being. He was the most worthless piece of shit that had every walked the Earth. But he was strong and smart. And Yao needed money and a place to live. Francois could give him that. It wasn't about that at first, but that really was the reason he stayed now.

He also stayed because he was afraid. So, so afraid of what Francois would do to him if he ever tried to leave.

He wasn't going to answer the question. He was doomed if he did, he was doomed if he didn't. Either way he was doomed.

It was no surprise to Yao when Francois punched him across the cheek, knocking his head hard against the side of the refridgerator. He didn't make noises anymore when this happened. Or he tried not to, at least.

He had cried the first few times during the short beatings, but not anymore. Though sometimes he did it afterwards when Francois couldn't hear or see him.

When Yao was younger, he would see stories on tv and on the internet about women, and occasionally men, who were beat by their spouses or partners or whoever they were with. He didn't show much sympathy for them. Like many other people, he would scoff and wonder why the woman wasn't just leaving the bastard who was beating her. Or if she _had _to stay, why didn't she fight back? She could have easily kicked him in the crotch and ran.

It was all so _easy._

He was so stupid to have ever thought that.

He still heard women and men saying things like that, but now, he didn't nod and agree with them. He nearly cried. Because it wasn't easy. It was so, so hard.

He had never tried to leave Francois. But once, he tried to fight back, and he wouldn't again. He knew how to fight, too. He had trained for years. But when it came down to it, Francois was bigger and stronger.

When he fought back, he swung, kicked, lunged. He'd finally kicked Francois in the nose with a c_rack. _Yao remembered the fight like it was yesterday instead of over a year ago. Blood trickled from his broken nose. They both stopped fighting for a second. Francois touched his upper lip and looked at his red fingers. The anger in his eyes had been incredible. Yao didn't start fighting again. Francois was no longer holding back and it wasn't going to be possible for Yao to beat him. He was sure that it would be worse if he hurt the blond again, too.

Overall, the fear was unimagineable. Being around Francois was a lot like being in a nightmare where you try to scream and run, but for some reason your voice won't work and your legs weigh 100 lbs. each.

Yao was taken out of his thoughts by Francois punching him in the cheek again. He fell this time, but not before slamming his head into the refridgerator a second time. "Fuck," Yao sputtered. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in the newly forming bruise on the side of his head. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn't do it in front of _him._

"You little shit," Francois slurred. He gave Yao one final judging look before sauntering off towards his bedroom. It used to be the bedroom they shared, but Yao could barely stand to share a house with that ass, let alone a room.

Yao stood up. His knees felt like they were going to give out and his cheek felt so warm, as if he had a fever. He really hated that man. He could take his insults, but each hit caused his hatred for Francois to fester. He could probably kill him if he wasn't so afraid of being killed first.

No. No. That wasn't true. As much as he hated Francois, he didn't want to kill anyone.

He tried to push Francois out of his mind for the time being.

Yao poured himself a glass of orange juice like nothing had happened. He hated orange juice, but he needed something to keep himself busy instead of lingering on thoughts that dared to enter his mind again. He grabbed a basket of frozen strawberries out of the freezer while trying to tell himself that everything was going to be okay. It was just a little fight this time. Just a little one. He was fine. Everything was alright.

Yao went to his room. They mostly used this room for storage, so there were boxes everywhere. Yao had a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner where he slept every night. It was actually more comfortable than it sounded. It was definitely better than sleeping next to _him._

He undressed, then plopped down in the pile of blankets with his phone and the basket of frozen strawberries. He picked up the biggest strawberry in the basket, gave it a tap, and held it to the welt on his cheek. He sighed in relief and opened his phone.

He saw the texts from Francois again. He deleted them immediately.

He must have looked so stupid in front of that man, Ivan. He was pretty sure that Ivan had heard Francois because he was talking too loud. Yao bit into the strawberry, which was already thawed on the outside from how warm his cheek was. He grabbed another strawberry and put it on his cheek. Yeah, the strawberries were weird, but it felt good on his cheek and he got to eat strawberries.

After a rough time, it's the little things, like strawberries, that make life worth living. He'd always thought that.

It also made him happy to think about the carousel. It had been in the back of his mind the entire ride home.

He wasn't sure why he wanted to see it fixed so badly, but his heart truly ached to see it restored to its former glory. And something about Ivan's attitude towards the carousel made Yao believe that it was possible.

The carousel just needed a loving touch.

That's all it really needed.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . .<em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>If you guys want to follow me on tumblr, I post pilot chapters and information on current and upcoming stories. Look for millie-bates if that's something you're interested in! Thank you!<strong>_


	3. Chapter 3

_"We became good friends after that . . . "_

* * *

><p>Since they fought often, Yao and Francois "made up" often.<p>

Basically, them making up consisted of Francois realizing that he couldn't have sex with Yao when he was angry with him and apologizing by giving him money. He had recieved $900 so far from Francois "making up". Yao never spent the money. It wasn't either of theirs to spend, it was Matthews money, so he kept it in a bank account for Matthew on the day that he realized his brother had completely and royally screwed him over.

Despite the money, Yao never forgave Francois. He might have forgiven him the first and second time, but after that, never. He didn't make it obvious. That would have just pissed the Frenchman off.

Francois always wanted to have make up sex after their fights. Like I said before, the main reason he apologized was because he got too horny and didn't want to take care of the problem himself. Why would he when he had a perfectly good toy in the other room? Yao was too afraid to say no. Honestly, Francois probably would have gone through with it even if he had said "no".

The first few times they had make up sex, it was terrible. Absolutely terrible. With the man who had given him a black eye pounding into him, he felt disgusting.

Some people were really into that, too. Pain turned them on. Yao thought maybe he'd be into that sort of thing at one time, but there was nothing sexy about the man you trusted, the man you thought loved you, shoving his lousy dick into you and telling you, with no hint of dishonesty, what a whore you were for getting hard when his clumsy hands curled around you.

Yao didn't usually cry. He didn't focus on the grunts or the slapping skin. His eyes stayed glued on a water stain on the ceiling. Sometimes he came, but not very often. It wasn't that he liked it, it was just difficult to not do so sometimes. It didn't feel good, either. It felt like someone had just forced it out of him. Like torture. Like a nightmare.

It felt a little like what Yao imagined having sex with your cousin would feel like. That was such a gross metaphor, but there was no better way to describe it than that. It felt _that _wrong.

Francois came, as always, but Yao didn't this time. He had just taken it like he always did. He thought about little things while Francois was fucking him. The restaurant. What he was going to get Mei for her birthday. Probably a pair of boots and a comforter set. He thought about what the carousel at the park needed to be fully restored. Definitely needed more paint. He thought a little about Ivan, too. He made a grocery list in his head. Milk. Bread. Peanut butter. Bananas. Eggs.

When Francois was done, he got up and left to take a shower, even though Yao was the one who really needed a shower and the only other bathroom was in the basement. Yao sighed and wiped himself off with a rag from the kitchen. He dressed, grabbed his phone, and looked at the lit screen.

It was only Tuesday. Sunday couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

><p>On Sunday afternoon, the sun was shining brighter than it had in weeks. It had been so cold lately. It snowed on Friday, but most of it was melted by now. The grass at the park wasn't so much grass as it was mud. Yao was glad he'd worn his short black boots today as he climbed the hill to the carousel. He almost fell down the hill a few times since the boots were completely smooth on the bottom and he had just about no traction, but he made it up with only one mud-covered knee.<p>

Ivan was already there working on the control panel. He seemed really into it, too.

He looked different than he had the other day, Yao noted. He wasn't wearing a suit this time. He had jeans on and a different coat. But he still had that scarf around his neck. His hat was gone, revealing a full head of light blondish-grey hair.

Yao was nervous about approaching him. I mean, he technically didn't know this man. He could be a killer or a rapist or something. I mean, Yao was pretty sure that he wasn't, but still. Better safe than sorry. That's what they said, at least. But it apparently wasn't what Yao said because he walked up to the carousel anyway.

He hoped he was allowed to be here. He hoped Ivan had told him he would be here today in hopes that Yao would show up. He didn't want to show up somewhere where he wasn't wanted. Was he supposed to say hi? Or what? Would that seem weird? Yao pursed his slightly chapped lips.

"Hello," Yao said politely. Ivan looked up and smiled. That was a good sign, he thought. But on the other hand, this man seemed to smile a lot.

"I wasn't actually expecting to see you here, Yao," he began. Yao's shoulders slumped. Oh. So he hadn't invited him. "But I'm happy you came," he finished with an almost too bright grin.

Yao smiled back. "Well, I thought it would be interesting to see. And you seem like an interesting guy. Quick question, though. You're not a serial killer, right?"

He had been joking, of course, but Ivan's grin visibly faltered. Yao thought he'd offended him at first. "Kidding. I was . . . I'm sorry, it was stupid. I just . . . I know you aren't a killer, I was just trying to be funny."

"I think your reaction to your own bad joke attempt was pretty funny, actually. If you must know, I'm not a serial killer. Unless you count honey nut cheerios and cinnamon toast crunch. Ba-dum-_tsss_," he said. Yao covered up a grin with his fingers.

"That joke might have actually hurt me," he said, chuckling. Ivan smiled and opened the control panel. "Okay, Yao, I'm done with bad jokes. For now. Could you do a favor for me?"

Yao stepped up onto the platform as Ivan peered into the metal box. It looked so confusing on the inside. He always forgot how tricky it was to actually work this thing. It wasn't just a button you pushed. It was all these wires and levers and it was so easy to break the carousel even more.

"As long as it doesn't have anything to do with _that_," he said, pointing at the box. Ivan pointed up to the lightbulbs on the ceiling and grabbed two wires.

"You won't have to mess around with this. I need you to get up next to one of the bulbs and tell me if you see it turning on at all. Even just a faint glow," he said. He pressed two wires together while Yao climbed up onto a green horse. He stood up on the fake pink saddle and looked at the lights. They were covered in a dusty sheen. Spider webs dangled in his face. This thing really needed to be cleaned. Yao dusted a bulb off with the sleeve of his sweater. He looked at the coil inside the bulb. "Is it supposed to be lit up now?"

Ivan looked up. He was supposed to be looking at the wires, but Yao was a sight to behold. He was such an interesting man. But he noticed something new about him this time. He hadn't really looked at Yao today, and now that he did, he couldn't ignore the bruise on the smaller mans cheekbone. It had looked like a blush in the light, but in the shade, it was a light purplish-yellow colour.

"Ivan?" Yao noticed the way the taller man studied him and just knew he was staring at his cheek. He knew he should have covered it up.

Ivan forced a smile. "Yes, I'm sorry. They're supposed to be lit. Are they lit at all? I think they might have all blown last time."

Yao gulped nervously. "Uh, no. They're out." He sat down on the fake horse, but didn't completely get off. A seat was a seat, and he didn't feel like standing. Plus, he was sitting with his legs to one side instead of straddling it, so it didn't feel as awkward. He leaned his bruised cheek against the golden bar to cover it from Ivan. "Tell me if you need anything else, Ivan."

Ivan nodded and typed something into his phone. He continued to work on the wires in the box. After a while, he said, "So, Yao, what do you do for a living? If you don't mind my asking, that is."

Yao looked up. "I don't mind. I actually don't work very much. Just in the afternoon and evenings on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Though sometimes I come in when I'm bored and I'll help, but I don't get paid for it. I work at my cousin's restaurant downtown. I don't know if you've heard of it. It's called _Mimi's Silk Road_. It's pretty good, I guess. We get good reviews, usually."

"Oh. I've seen it but I've never been inside. Maybe I'll try it sometime. What do you do there?"

Yao traced the paint on the horse and yawned. "A little bit of everything. Cooking is my favorite, though. Sometimes I have to deliver food and that's hell. We get some real creeps. I'd honestly rather talk about what you do. You said you design carousels?"

Ivan nodded, hands still carefully picking at wires in the box. "Yes. It's a rewarding job in many ways. I'd recommend it to anyone who appreciates beauty and art. I restore carousels, too, and help build them, though I have people to build them for me. I usually am the one who does the sketch of the carousel and its parts. I colour it and send it to whoever is buying it. They say yay or nay, and if nay, I redraw the entire thing to fit their description. If they say yay, the workers begin to build it. Though I do a good amount of the painting. We get a lot of business from people who want just a horse, either a new one or a restored one. They put them in their houses for decoration. Restoring the horses and carriages and things like that is very enjoyable."

Yao nodded. He was jealous of Ivan for getting to have such an amazing job. He probably made a good chunk of money, too, and all he did for it was what he loved. It just wasn't fair.

"It sounds great. Your family must be proud," he said almost sadly. Ivan nodded and stood up, brushing dust off of his hands.

"Yes, my sister is proud, I think," he said. Yao looked at the sky to his left. It was turning pink. "Just your sister? You don't think the rest of them are proud?"

Ivan typed something into his phone a second time and put it in his back pocket. "I think they'd be proud if they were still alive." He said it so casually that it took Yao a minute to realize what he'd just said. Questions and apologies poured out of his mouth.

"I'm so sorry. Is it just you and your sister? I mean, I . . . I didn't, er, I don't mean to pry, I apologize, really, I just-"

"It's okay. Honestly, it's been so many years. And to answer your question, yes, it's just my sister and I. But she's great, Yao. She's the best sister in the world. You'd like her. She works with me as my secretary. She keeps me on task."

Yao nodded and looked away, taking some time to think over what he'd learned about Ivan. There was one question he was genuinely curious about.

"So you aren't married, either?"

Ivan shook his head. "No. It's hard for me to connect with people. I haven't met anyone that has wanted to share their life with me, either. Which is fine. I'm only 27, so I have plenty of time."

Yao raised an eyebrow at his age. "Twenty-seven? I would have thought you were older." Ivan laughed at that. "Da, I know. Everyone says that. Sometimes I think I'm going to look 100 when I'm 70, and that isn't going to be very fun."

Yao grinned. "Well, I'm Chinese, and we hit 30 and stay looking 30 until we turn 60. At that point, it just all falls apart within a matter of seconds. It's like, uh, what is that . . . Cinderella? Yeah. The clock strikes midnight on your 60th birthday and all of a sudden your hair is grey and your face looks like a used leather bag."

"Oh my God," Ivan said, laughing. "That's . . . that's something Yao." Ivan adjusted his scarf and smiled. "This was very nice. You're an interesting man."

Yao blushed. "Not really, but thank you, Ivan. What's your last name, anyway? I know, it is out of the blue."

"No, you're fine. It's Braginski."

Yao stood up and stepped off of the carousel. "Were you born in Russia?"

Ivan stepped off of the carousel as well. The sun had fallen under the trees by now and the moon was shining in the sky. "Yes. St. Petersburg, actually. I lived there until I was 16. Then I moved to Chicago with my sister. I lived in Chicago for four years or so before moving here."

Ivan, with Yao at his side listening to his words, started down the hill towards the parking lot. "I moved here because my sister asked me to. Her husband was offered a job at the military academy here so they had to pack up and leave, and she worries about me very much. I wasn't going to leave Chicago, but I'm glad I did. I've always wanted to work on carousels and I found a good space to do that here. It is also good that I'm not likely to get shot here." Ivan stopped and smiled at Yao. "And I've met you. I wouldn't have met you if I was still in Chicago, Yao, and I have a feeling you are someone worth meeting. What is your last name, by the way?"

"Wang. Yao Wang. Well, sort of. I guess it is technically Wang Yao, because we put the last name first. And thank you, by the way. For the, uh, the comment. I'm glad you think I'm someone worth meeting. You definitely are. I mean, not in a weird way. I just, er, I think you're a good man. From what I can tell, at least."

"A good man? Compared to who?" He asked this so knowingly that it made Yao cringe. Yao really didn't feel comfortable going into this conversation. He was sure at this point that Ivan had heard Francois yelling the other day. And then that damn bruise on his cheek. "Yao," he continued, "I do what any decent person would do. I do not think you should call me a good man for doing what I'm supposed to do naturally. People are naturally good. I strongly believe that."

Yao nodded. "Oh." He couldn't imagine Francois being naturally good at all. Ivan was the only good thing he had seen in months. He wasn't sure if he believed that people were naturally good.

"I'll walk you to your car, Yao," Ivan said. Yao's eyes widened.

"Uh, I mean, you don't have to. Not that I don't want you to! I just parked way over there and I don't want you to have to backtrack."

"You're embarassed about the car you drive?"

Shit. Was it that obvious? Yao shoved his hands into his coat pockets and slid an old nickel between his fingers nervously. He needed something to do with his hands. He hated having free hands when he was nervous. "I, well, it's pretty bad, Ivan. I guess it would be alright if you walked me to my car, but don't make fun. Just follow me."

Ivan, still smiling, followed Yao. They talked a little about how cloudy it had been and about Yao's job some more. Before Yao got into his car, he remembered something he wanted to ask Ivan. "Ivan, you never answered that question the other day. The one about the difference between the horses on the carousel."

Ivan opened Yao's door for him. "Goodbye, Yao. You'll stay safe, da?"

Yao pouted. "You're not going to answer the question? I want to know! You're acting so cryptic about it."

Ivan smiled playfully and shut Yao's door. Yao smirked, started his car, and rolled down his window. "I see. Goodbye, Ivan."

"Bye, Yao," the Russian said, already walking towards his own car.

As Yao drove out of the park that day, he couldn't help but feel a certain emptiness.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . . <em>


	4. Chapter 4

_"They don't realize that in a few years, none of this is going to matter."_

* * *

><p>The bruise on Yao's cheek had nearly faded by the time work rolled around on Thursday. It was a yellowish colour now and it didn't hurt so much when he pressed his finger to it. Yao had to work the register this time, which wasn't all that great as he didn't care to talk to the people, but it was still better than delivering, so he wasn't complaining.<p>

He didn't have much longer to work, though he still had to stay an hour after the restaurant closed to clean up. Mei kept a tight ship. Not that Yao was upset by this. This wasn't the worst place to be tonight. Yao looked up at the old "coca-cola" clock on the wall with a quiet sigh. He only turned around when a little bell rang behind him to signal that someone's food was ready. Yao picked up the plates, sat them down at a table of young women, and resumed his same position at the counter.

"So what is that on your cheek? You think I wouldn't notice?" Mei usually talked to him in Chinese, and this time wasn't any different. It was actually kind of funny, though. Chinese was easier to speak, first off, and it clearly freaked out the customers half of the time. Americans were so paranoid.

"It's nothing, Mei," he said. She never bought that. She came around to the front and forced him to look at her. She touched the bruise and frowned. "I hate him," she said. "He's a bastard. Pardon my language, Yao. I just can't stand it. You need to leave him."

Yeah, he knew. He needed to leave. He needed to fight back. He needed to call the police. It was simple.

He didn't argue with Mei. She always said things like that. She didn't understand and she probably never would. But at least she cared.

When the bell on the front door rang, Mei and Yao both looked up. It took Yao a second to realize that it was Ivan. He wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed, happy, or both. He was smiling as he always was when he approached the counter. Mei looked frazzled, most likely because of the mans size. He was pretty frightening at first glance.

Ivan didn't even look up at the menu before saying, "I haven't eaten Chinese food in six years. What would you suggest?"

Mei began to speak, but Yao quickly tugged her hand to stop her.

In case you didn't know this, you never ask for a suggestion from the workers at a restaurant. They're going to make money no matter what you get, and more often than not they'll suggest that you order the food that is going to expire soon because they need to get rid of it as soon as possible.

"Hm. Well, I personally like the Lo Mein best," Yao said. Mei shot him a suspicious look.

"I'll have that then and just water. Thank you," he said with a smile that caused Mei to pinch Yao's hand. Once Ivan sat down, Mei pushed Yao into the kitchen and began frantically talking in Chinese.

"What was that? Do you know him?"

Yao nodded. "Yeah, he's a friend."

"You weren't looking at him like a friend, sneaky butt!" She said excitedly.

He looked out at Ivan, who was taking off his coat. Yao grabbed him a glass of ice water and went out to give it to him, despite Mei's protests. Ivan smiled up at him and gave him a nod. "Thank you, sneakybutt."

Yao paled. Oh damn. "How did you . . . ?"

"She slipped out of Chinese a few times," Ivan said, nearly laughing.

Yao blushed. "Well, just ignore everything you heard in there. We aren't used to people actually listening to our conversations. Especially Mei." Yao turned and looked back at Mei, who was trying to spy on them from the little window connecting the counter and the kitchen. Yao yelled, "You need to be cooking, Mei, instead of watching me! You're scaring the customer!"

Mei ducked back down into the kitchen. Yao slid into the seat across from Ivan. He wasn't supposed to do that, but nobody was eating at the restaurant tonight except for Ivan and that group of girls by the window. "How are you, Yao?" Ivan asked. Yao played with the soy sauce container on the table.

"I'm good," he said, nodding like he was trying to convince himself. "How about you, Ivan?"

"Good, Good. It's snowing, so that's nice."

"You like snow? I thought only children liked snow. They don't know how terrible it is to drive in," Yao said, smirking and leaning back.

Ivan took a sip of water. "This is nothing compared to Russia. The driving in snow is so much worse there."

Yao stood up when he heard a little _ding _from the kitchen. He grabbed Ivan's plate and sat it in front of him before sliding into his seat again. "So . . . do you miss Russia?"

Ivan laughed and unwrapped his fork. "Oh, no. No. I do not. One time I am going down the highway and some guy needed to merge, and the traffic was terrible this day. It was backed up and everyone was getting angry. Anyways, this man needed to merge, and I come up next to him. The man unrolls his window, looks at me once, takes out a pistol and points it at me. I had to let him get in front of me. I was upset, but if I would have taken out my gun from the glove box, none of us would have gotten anywhere. The people are very . . . well, you know. And Russia hasn't recovered fully from the Soviet Union, despite popular believe and claims."

Yao blinked a few times. "You keep a gun in your glovebox?"

"Not anymore." The Russian took a bite of his food. "It was just in St. Petersburg for safety when I had to drive through the bad parts."

Yao crossed his arms. "Ivan, I'm going to ask a serious question. Have you ever committed a crime? I mean, a major one. One where they had to take you in for days at a time at least?"

Ivan frowned and took a drink of water. "I can see why you're concerned, Yao, but I haven't committed a crime where they've taken me in for days at a time. I've had tickets for things like parking in the wrong place. I don't need to commit crimes. People who commit crimes commit them, most of the time, because they're going to get something out of it. I have the things I want, so crime is out of the question." Yao looked at the soy sauce container again while Ivan ate a few more bites. "I just had to be sure. You can be sort of . . . intimidating."

Ivan smiled faintly. "I know. It is not something that I can help, though, so I don't think about it."

Yao smiled. "Anyway, Ivan, you really don't miss Russia at all? I just thought you'd miss some of it. I know there were things about China I hated, but I still miss it."

"Honestly, Yao," he said with an off kind of smile, "There are things I miss about it. But I don't feel very welcome there." Ivan played with a noodle on his plate with his fork. Yao leaned back. "Why not?"

Ivan didn't look up, but he did let out a short laugh. "Ah. I don't know. Lots of older reasons and recent developments."

"Recent developments?"

"Well, it's illegal to be a homosexual there."

Yao's eyebrows twitched up. "Wait, you're-"

"Da, da. I'm gay. I didn't think it was that surprising," he said, smiling. Yao blushed and looked down. He had a feeling that the Russian was gay, but he wasn't exactly sure and it would have been rude to ask him that. Wait, did he know that Yao was gay? Was that why he was spending time with him? Yao gulped and looked up at Ivan again. "Now that I think about it, I guess it isn't. I mean, I am too, but I have a boyfriend." Yao cringed at the word._Boyfriend. _The word didn't sound right when used to describe Francois.

Yao watched the table of girls in the corner of the restaurant finally leave. Ivan crossed his fork over his plate and leaned back. "Yes. I knew you were when you answered your phone last week. I also knew you were in a relationship for the same reason."

Shit. He did know. He knew about Francois and he probably knew that he treated Yao like shit and suddenly, he felt like an idiot. Ivan would try to talk about the situation with him, judge him for not leaving by now, and suggest he try to fight back. He would begin to believe that it was Yao's fault for staying in such a screwed up relationship, just like everyone else did.

"Yao, how often do you go out?"

Yao was never more relieved than when someone didn't ask him about Francois. This was definitely one of those times. "Uh, not very much. I mean, oops, often. Not very often."_Because Francois won't let me, _he thought.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Ivan asked. Saturday? Shit. He had work on Saturday until 10:30. His shoulders slumped and he pouted. "I have to work until 10:30."

Ivan nodded. "Perfect. Can I pick you up here after work?"

Yao's face brightened for a second. "Sure, that would be-" he stopped. What was he doing? Francois expected him home at 11. He didn't want to piss him off like he had last week. He sighed and shook his head. "I actually am not sure if that's such a good idea. I'll be tired, so, uh, I think I'll take a rain check, Ivan."

Ivan studied Yao. "I'm going to be honest, Yao. You're enticing. Look at you." He grinned. "You're beautiful." Yao blushed and looked down at his apron. "Ivan, are you serious?"

The Russian raised an eyebrow. "I said nothing about the way you looked, but you are definitely attractive, too. Even in that apron." Yao looked away. Was it hot in here or what? "I think you'll find a lie to tell him. Maybe tell him that you're going to restock and it may take a while. Tell him you may have to stay until 2, but you're going to get paid more. That is how you'll prove it. You'll say 'the boss felt bad for making me stay late and she gave me my money I made overtime early.' At that point, you'll pull out 200 dollars to prove it to him. You'll talk to the boss about this, just in case you need to call her to lie for you as well. You're family, da? She'll do it for you."

Yao didn't blink. "Do you understand how dangerous this is? I don't think you do, Ivan." Yao watched Mei lock the front doors and turn off the neon _open _sign. Ivan nodded. "Trust me, Yao. I'll pick you up, we'll go out, then I'll drop you off at your car and you can go home."

Yao's breath quickened. "I'm so bad at lying, Ivan. You don't understand. A-And what if he goes by the restaurant to see if I'm there and I'm gone?"

Ivan's eyebrows furrowed. "Tell him you had to take the bus to go to pick up some specific cleaning supplies that the boss wanted. You had to take the bus because your car wouldn't start for some reason. That explains why your car will still be there."

Yao was so afraid, and yet, he wanted to do this. He wanted to go out for once without Francois breathing down his neck. "Okay. Alright. Be here on Saturday. Wait, where am I going to get money to prove to Francois that I stayed and worked?"

"His name is Francois?"

"Ivan! I need to know where the money is coming from!"

Ivan pulled out his wallet and took out two hundred-dollar bills. "Here," he said, sliding the money across the table. Yao's jaw dropped. "I can't accept that."

"Yao, this is nothing. Take it. It'll offend me more if you don't."

Yao hesitantly took the money and clumsily shoved it into his own wallet. Tonight was a weird night. "Thanks, Ivan. I've got to go, it's getting late."

Ivan nodded and put his coat back on before standing up. "I'll see you Saturday?"

Yao smiled and nodded. "You bet."

Once Ivan left, Mei grabbed Yao's arm harshly and sat him back down at the table. She grinned and said, "Tell. Me. EVERYTHING."

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . .<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_"I remember he invited me over to this house and we went in and there were a few other people there, but they weren't American. One of them was German, too. They had this old bottle of some kind of German liquor and it was really nice, but when we tried to move the cork, it completely crumbled into the liq__uor because it was so old, and I had to filter it through a coffee pot, and it was just so weird because we were drinking out of these tiny Dixie cups and we had poured this really nice alcohol from an old coffee pot. It was a really good time, though."_

* * *

><p>"Are you nervous?" Ivan asked. Yao buckled his seatbelt and looked at the clock in the car. 10:35. He was, of course, a little nervous about this. He was cheating on his-<p>

He couldn't bring himself to think of Francois as his boyfriend again. And this didn't feel like cheating. This felt fair and incredibly right. It didn't make him feel guilty at all, surprisingly.

"No, I'm not, actually," he lied.

Ivan smiled knowingly and nodded, keeping his eyes glued on the road. "I wanted you to meet a few people. Friends, I guess." Oh, that was weird. Ivan hadn't ever really called these people his friends, but he figured that's what they were. They spent a good amount of time together, but given the circumstances, he might not be able to stand them so well in a different situation.

"Oh. Where are we going, then?"

"There's this place downtown. You'll like it. It's . . . different, Yao. I think you'd gain from it." Ivan raised an eyebrow and turned off the heat in the car, though it still felt forty degrees in the car to Yao. He figured Ivan could handle the cold better than a lot of people could.

"You're being cryptic again," Yao said, smiling. "Is it pretty close?"

"Yes, actually. Just about five more minutes. This isn't really that big of a city."

"Definitely not. I remember riding in the car with my parents in Shanghai and it taking twenty minutes to get somewhere that should have taken max five minutes to get to," Yao said, peeking outside at the streetlights. Ivan watched him for a second. "How long did you live there, Yao?"

"Until I was ten. Then we moved here. I've lived here longer than I've lived in China," he answered. Ivan stifled a yawn. "And you live here with your family?" Yao nodded faintly.

"Well, not everyone. Some live in China. We don't really talk. Which is mutual, I mean, I'm pretty busy. Both of my brothers live here, though. One is 24 and the other is 14. They live together. I would help watch Kiku, the younger one, but I don't have the money to help them and I don't want to stress out Leon. That's the 24 year old one. I love them, though, and I visit them."

Ivan raised his eyebrows. "And Leon is your older brother?"

Yao laughed slightly. "No. He's my younger brother. I'm 29."

"What? You're lying. You look so-"

"Young? Yeah, I know. I don't age like I should. I told you that, too. I'm going to look like this until I turn 60. Then it's going to fall apart. I've been mentally preparing myself," he said with a grin. Ivan looked at Yao's grin. He hadn't seen it but a few times so far, and it was radiant. He had nearly perfect teeth. Ivan looked up at Yao's eyes. The light reflected in his eyes beautifully. Brown eyes were so wonderful, he thought. Blue eyes didn't reflect light like brown eyes did. Brown eyes had a certain sparkle to them that blue and green eyes lacked.

Not that he had any of those. Ivan had violet eyes, which was extremely rare unless you were an albino. It almost seemed unrealistic, and most of the people he met thought he was wearing contacts, and even when he'd try to explain that it was a birth defect, they'd still think it was some kind of fashion statement. Not that it really mattered.

"You should smile more, Yao," he said without thinking. Yao pursed his lips and leaned back. "Yeah, I guess I should. There isn't always something to smile for, though."

"That isn't true, Yao," Ivan said, parking the car in the street next to some old brick building with a purple neon something or another in the window. The tree in front of the building was pink and orange around the trunk for some reason. Was it painted? Yao turned to Ivan. "Where are we?" He asked.

"Come on, Yao," Ivan said. He turned the car off and unbuckled. They both stepped out into the cool, misty air. It was going to snow again soon, most likely. The streets were already icing over. Ivan led Yao up to the door of the brick building.

They had walked into an art gallery of some sort. The floor was concrete and splattered with various coloured paints, though not on purpose. The walls were adorn with modern art, some impressive, some absolutely absurd and too abstract for how much they costed. All were very colourful. There weren't many people in the gallery, just two young men who looked like they could be twins. One of them smiled and approached both Ivan and Yao with an open hand.

"Ciao! How are you both? Well?" The boy placed a kiss on Ivans cheek, then Yao's, much to his chagrin. Yao shot Ivan a look, but the Russian wasn't paying attention.

"Yes, I think we are," Ivan answered quickly. "Thank you, Mr. Vargas."

"Mr. Vargas is my grandfather. You know you can just call me Feliciano, Ivan!"

The other man shoved Feliciano out of the way and said, "Shit, Feli. Go wait at the desk or I'll tell grandpa you're-"

"H-Hey! Okay! Fine," the boy said, retreating to a cluttered desk at the back of the gallery. Yao figured that area was where they actually did the painting and the boy, Feliciano, he had said, was a painter.

"Sorry about that, Ivan. He's been acting weird lately. They're trying to break him of all his tendencies at Eastway. And he's not the sharpest knife in the drawer, you know. Thanks for lending this space, by the way," the young man said. He looked just like the last one but with darker hair and eyes. "You here for business or are you here to smoke on the old peace pipe and 'speak of revolutions and societies inevitable downfall'?" The young man said this almost mockingly.

"The latter," he said with a hint of a smile. "Where are they, Mr. Vargas?"

"The back room. Feliks has a surprise. I think it's a nice bottle of wine or something like that. He's already fucked up, though."

Yao blinked a few times. He wasn't sure if this was somewhere he was meant to be. The more he stayed in the gallery, the more confused he became. He felt out of place and wasn't sure if he should leave or question Ivan. The paint fumes were already getting to his head. He felt fingers intertwining with his and realized Ivan had grabbed his hand and was leading him towards a door in the back.

Yeah, okay. _I could stay a little longer_, he thought to himself as he gave Ivan's hand a gentle squeeze.

The room was large, about 1200 sq. ft. if he had to guess off the top of his head. The floors were wooden in this room with plaster walls and two big windows that were parallel to eachother. There were a few chairs, bookshelves, a piano, a couch, and an oriental rug. There were other things like little tables and little trinkets everywhere.

The room wasn't void of people, either. There were four people. The first he noticed was a man with blond hair at his shoulders and half-lidded eyes. Next to him was a man with hair a little past his shoulders. He looked worried, but content. There were two people sitting on the couch against the wall. The first was a large man with a goatee and a tan. He might have been hispanic, Yao couldn't tell. The last was a woman leaning on his shoulder with short blonde hair, big blue eyes, and big . . .

How wasn't she breaking the buttons on that shirt? She was the chestiest woman Yao had ever seen. _Bless her heart, _Yao thought, looking up at Ivan, who was smiling at them casually. "This is Yao," he said, his smile turning into a grin. Each of the people smiled at him and greeted him in some way or another. Yao's nerves melted away and he smiled at them.

"Yao, this is Feliks, Toris, Sadik, and my sister, Katyusha."

Yao smiled. "You're right, Ivan, she is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Katyusha let out a laugh and looked at Ivan. "I like him already, Ivan!"

Now, this was a crucial moment in Ivan's life, though he wouldn't know it until it settled later. But at this moment, Ivan's heart ached. He could feel it sinking in his chest, beating heavily, his stomach churning to the point where he thought something might have been actually wrong with him. His eyes softened and the breath caught in his throat, though he must have still been somehow breathing. He could hear a few of them talking to Yao, but it was so distant and unclear.

There was an unwavering desire clouding his mind. That was a good way to describe it, he guessed.

"Ivan? Are you alright?" Katyusha asked. Ivan looked around and saw them all staring at him. Feliks wore a coy smile and winked at him knowingly. Yao raised an eyebrow and leaned into Ivan curiously. "I think you zoned out," he said. Ivan grinned and laughed nervously.

"Da, I did. God, I'm sorry. I'm just . . . it's late," Ivan said before pulling a chair for Yao and pulling the piano bench for himself. He sat on it lengthwise with his left leg pulled up and his right leg resting to the side, a position more fitting for someone small, though it seemed so natural when Ivan sat that way, even with his long legs. You could see his socks, though, which were black with green and pink stripes. Yao covered his grin when he saw them.

After sitting down, Ivan did something that Yao hadn't seen yet. He unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and tossed it onto the piano.

Yao had thought that the man wore the scarf to cover some scar or some other blemish. He never really got around to asking about it. From what he could tell, his neck was completely smooth without a single blemish of any sort. He had an incredibly pale neck, even paler than his own, which he didn't see a lot. A blue vein that split into many was clear from where Yao was sitting. Almost translucent.

"You're looking at his neck, right? Isn't it, like, really weird? You can see all the veins, like, look at them. The first time I saw them all I was like 'no way' but Toris told me they were, like, legitimate. So yeah, he's got a nice neck though. Like, look how smooth it is. You have a nice neck, too, Toris," Feliks said, winking at Toris. Ivan grimaced and covered his neck with his hands.

"Talk about something more tasteful, Feliks. I don't know how you deal with her, Toris," Ivan said. Yao looked up at Ivan, realizing the very faint emphasis he had put on the word 'her' in his previous sentence. Toris just mumbled something and flipped through a yellowed piano book.

"Tasteful! Like, hold on. That reminded me! You gotta see this liquor I got. It's like, really good. Vintage!" She took an oddly shaped brown bottle out of her pink bag sitting on the floor. "Look! It even like, looks vintage!"

Yao wasn't sure if he could listen to Feliks say 'like' anymore. She said it a lot, just like the teenage girls he saw all the time at the restaurant.

"Let me see," Ivan said, taking the bottle from Feliks, who also handed him an opener. He carefully twisted it into the cork at the top of the bottle and gave a steady tug. The cork popped out and whizzed past Yao's face, missing his nose by a centimeter. Ivan smelled the liquor and pulled away. "Jesus, where did this come from, Feliks?" Feliks laughed and said, far too happily, "My Grandpa died!"

They were all silent for a moment, especially Yao, who grimaced just as Ivan had. Finally, Ivan said, "And that's good?"

"Yeah! I got some really cool stuff. Like, I found this in his wine cellar. That's where I headed first, you know, since good liquor isn't cheap. I was thinking smart. Isn't that right, Toris?"

"That's right, sweetheart . . . ," he said as he stuffed something into the wooden pipe he held between his fingers. Feliks grinned and pinched Toris' cheek before kissing his ear. Ivan cleared his throat. "Alright. Where's some glasses?"

"I didn't bring any."

"Go wash some of the paint jars," Toris said as he struck a match and lit the pipe. The smoke was already rising and flooding Yao's nostrils. Ivan coughed and waved some of the smoke out of his face. "That smells off. Where'd you get it?" Ivan asked, looking at Toris. He took a few more puffs and leaned back. "The guy in that apartment complex on Meadowmere."

"What a waste. You should get your money back," Ivan said.

Feliks stood up. "You don't even smoke that much, Ivan."

"It doesn't do much for me usually," he replied with a shrug.

"Don't encourage my brother to smoke, Feliks," Katyusha said. Feliks opened the door to the gallery. "I wasn't, Katyusha. Oh, I like your top, by the way. But I think there might be too much cleavage. It would look better on me, sweetie."

Ivan shot her a look and Katyusha crossed her arms. "You're just jealous because I _have _boobs and you _don't!_" She yelled. Ivan grimaced and muttered something in Russian. She did as well. Their voices rose and it became clear that they were having an argument. Ivan stood up. Katyusha stood up. Ivan started smiling. Katyusha started smiling. The argument ended as soon as it began. Yao was more confused than he had been since he entered the gallery.

"Okay, so I'm like, not sure if these are cleaned all that well because I'm like, kind of bad at cleaning. Right, Toris?"

"Don't put yourself down like that, sweetheart . . . " He said, opening the newspaper on the table and scanning through it, muttering something about how he liked Pope Francis or something. Feliks grinned and sat with Toris again. "God, Toris. I love you so much."

"I love you too, honey . . . "

Yao stopped to think for a second about what was going on with this group. Toris and Feliks were in a relationship. Katyusha and Sadik were in a relationship, which meant that Sadik taught at the Military Academy, which was odd because he was in a place like this. He must have been doing it for Katyusha, who was cradling her husbands head in her lap and playing with his hair.

"There's still paint right there, Feliks," Ivan said, pouring some of the liquor into a mason jar they typically used for paint. Feliks huffed. "C'mon, Ivan. You're just being picky," Feliks said, handing a glass of brown liquor to Yao, who swirled it around curiously. Feliks pouted when Ivan knocked it back, but Katyusha giggled, obviously not surprised by her brothers drinking habits.

"You're supposed to taste it, Ivan!" Feliks said. Ivan and Katyusha both laughed, though she was actually savoring hers. "You don't drink for the taste," he said, grinning.

"Well, all you drink is vodka. Shit. Vodka makes my eyes fuckin' water. I had my leg blown off in Afghanistan, right," Sadik said, looking at Yao and Ivan. "Let me tell you. That made my eyes water less than vodka. And Kat just fuckin' tilts it back. Not often, but holy shit is it impressive." He looked just at Yao now. "Ivan can drink a whole bottle and not be shit-faced. It's fuckin' superhuman." Sadik took a drink from the glass in his hands. Yao looked at his leg curiously. It wasn't obvious that his leg was gone because of his pants. He decided against asking about it.

"So, Yao. Do you smoke?" Toris asked. Yao shook his head nervously and said, "Uh, I mean, I did twice with my cousin Mei. Not . . . not marijuana or anything."

"So cigarettes?"

"Opium," he said, swirling the alcohol again. They were all silent for a moment. Feliks nudged Toris and pouted before whispering something into his ear.

"Yao, do you think you could get us-"

"Nyet," Ivan said for him. "Go get it yourself."

Yao listened to them bicker about why it was and wasn't wrong to make Yao get heroin for them, which made him more nervous than it should have considering the fact that this had happened about eight years ago anyway and the person Mei got it from had probably been caught. Yao looked up at the old-looking clock on the wall.

The night wasn't even close to being over, and despite the oddness of the situation, Yao was content. As long as he was here with Ivan, everything would be alright.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


	6. Chapter 6

**_I would like to apologize for any spelling/grammar errors you find. I don't have spellcheck, so it is sometimes difficult to catch certain things._**

**_I also apologize because I am not the best writer, but I hope that I am able to convey my writing in a way that makes you understand what I am trying to tell you and the importance of certain things._**

* * *

><p><em>"I've been single my whole life, I never got married; I've seen the world, but when I go home after this, it's just going to be me and my dog Bobby. It gets kind of lonely sometimes."<em>

* * *

><p>Ivan lived in an influential neighborhood, though not in the suburbs. He didn't talk to his neighbors and he didn't want to either, which they found strange, but he could care less what any of them thought of him. Many of them were confused as to why he was living here and not somewhere more luxurious. Ivan made six-hundred grand a year minimum. He had a rare but necessary trade. Carousels were everywhere, though nobody ever thinks about the fact that somebody has to create such a beautiful piece of machinery.<p>

Ivan had bought the house when he first started off. He was initially going to fix the house up and sell it at a high price, but the more time he spent in it and worked on it, the more he became attached to it. Something about the house felt right. No parts of it bothered him. He was sure the house had been built in the 30's or 40's. It was red brick on the outside with wood floors on the inside. It was more of a family home, and he was sure he looked odd living in such a place all by himself. Oh well.

He came in through the back door, as he never went through the front door, and shut it behind him, careful not to let his cat out. He liked cats. Not especially, but he did like caring for things in general. He hadn't given his cat a name. Katyusha had started calling him Kitty, so that's what he called him, too.

He checked to see if the cat had food. He did. He always did. He was such a fat cat, too. Ivan took his coat off and laid it on the table before removing his tie and throwing it over a chair. He took his shoes off lazily, pushed them under the small table in the kitchen, and opened the fridge to see what he had. He wasn't amazing at cooking, that was for sure. He was best at icing and frosting cakes and cookies, but only if he had to, and that wasn't even a culinary aspect to him. That was a visual arts aspect to him.

While at home, he never spoke in English. Always Russian. His cat responded to Russian words. Never English. "Damn," He said to himself, pushing through a gallon of milk and a few blocks of cheese. He had forgotten to go shopping, so he grabbed some ham and other things for making sandwhiches. That's what he ended up eating half the time.

Not that he saw anything wrong with that. Sandwhiches were easy to make and they could include most food groups if you tried hard enough.

When he was done eating, he went upstairs to shower. He had a shower where the water came from a grid in the ceiling, which looked like some cool kind of modern interior design statement, but he actually didn't have a choice on the matter because he was too tall for a regular showerhead.

He didn't like to take long showers. It bothered him to not be able to hear anything for long periods of time. He was simple, too. He had a couple of bottles and a bar of soap, along with a few razors. He wasn't a fan of being completely smooth, though. He always believed it was good to keep up with yourself and stay well-managed. Neat was a good word to describe how he prefered body hair to be. He had a little bit of hair on his chest, though he wasn't very hairy there naturally. He didn't shave under his arms or anywhere on his legs. The thought was bizarre to him. He was a man, not a 12 year old boy.

He stepped out of the shower and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't always wrap a towel around himself when he stepped out. People did that for warmth more than they did that to dry off, and he wasn't always cold when he stepped out of the shower. Besides, he lived alone. He dried himself off quickly and pushed his hair out of his face. It was always weird to have his hair out of his face since it was always resting on his forehead.

He slid some underwear and sweats on before pulling an old t-shirt over his head that said something tacky about St. Petersburg. He pushed the door open to his room and looked at his bed. The maid must have stopped by because the bed was made and the room had been cleaned up. Just as he was about to climb into bed and turn out the lights, he heard the front door open.

* * *

><p>"Katyusha, why do you insist on-"<p>

"You're good at keeping secrets, Ivan, but not good enough to keep them from me. You like him. I don't blame you, either. If I was a gay man I'd like him, too," Katyusha said with a giggle. Ivan pulled up his leg and glanced at the old clock on his wall.

"It's almost midnight. How'd you manage to leave without Sadik noticing?"

Katyusha smiled and sipped the coffee Ivan had made for her. "He knows I'm here. I don't have to sneak out or anything like that; Sadik trusts me. He was grading papers and things like that and he really gets agitated sometimes while working on them. He says something about half of them being idiots whose daddy's pay for them to get into Eastway. I don't know." She closed her eyes, took another drink from her mug, and leaned back.

"Da, da, but why is she here?" Ivan said, nodding at Feliks, who was digging through the drawers in all the coffee tables and slowly lighting and burning away the remaining sticks in a box of old birthday candles. Maria let out a weak laugh and said, "She picked me up. My car is in the shop." Feliks hummed and sat down on the arm of the couch.

"We wanted to talk to you about Yao. He's a total babe. I mean, he's like, a china doll. I want the juicy details. Have you guys, like, done it yet?" Feliks said with a crafty smile. Ivan shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms, nearly spilling coffee on himself. Katyusha rolled her eyes at the comment, but she wasn't surprised.

"I haven't known him for long. And I don't think he'd be okay with having sex with someone he barely knows. He's not _you, _Feliks," Ivan said. Feliks dramatically threw her hand across her chest and gasped. "Ivan! I do NOT have sex with men I don't know!" She yelled.

"You knew Toris for two weeks. Sorry. You really proved me wrong," Ivan sighed. Feliks crossed her arms and looked away. She wasn't smiling anymore.

"You're right, Ivan. I knew him for like, two weeks before we had sex. But you know what? I love Toris. I've been with him for two years and I plan on being with him for the rest of my life. You can fall in love with somebody in two weeks. Like, I didn't know him that well. I can admit that. But I knew that there was nothing he could say that would make me love him less. Like, I mean, he could like, tell me he had a fucking diaper fetish and I totally would have stayed with him. And yes. You can fall out of love. But that doesn't make the love you fell into any less real."

Ivan pursed his lips and nodded at Feliks, going over her words in his head, laughing lightly at the diaper fetish part. "I know you wouldn't have stayed with Toris if he had a diaper fetish," Katyusha said, giggling. Feliks raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Toris does have fetishes though."

"And we don't want to hear them," Ivan said, resting his face in his hands.

"He likes it when I call him daddy," Feliks said, stifling a laugh. Katyusha covered her mouth to keep from laughing, but that didn't stop the coffee from dripping down the side of her hand from her mouth. She ran to the kitchen, nearly slipping on the wooden floor, and Ivan could hear the sound of running water and her loud, ringing laughter. He grimaced. "Ugh, Christ. Come on, Feliks."

Feliks laughed at Ivan's reaction. "I'm done, I'm done," she promised. "Now, like, let's totally talk about your china doll. Katyusha! Hurry up! Oh wait! Bring me something to eat!"

"What makes you think I want to stay up all night with you both? I'm gay, but I'm not a woman," Ivan said. Katyusha pushed open the door with her shoulder and threw a package of oreos to Feliks, who peeled off the wrapper and shoved two into his mouth at once. She was eating a peppermint candycane. She handed a half empty bottle of vodka to Ivan, who eyed it with both disgust and appreciation. He unscrewed the lid and started to drink, then remembered something.

"The man Yao's with drinks a lot, I think. I know what a drunk man sounds like, and when-"

"What?! Holy shit, he's married?"

"No. He's not married or committed to this man. I can tell."

Katyusha and Feliks looked at each other, then back at Ivan. "So he's cheating on his boyfriend? What makes you think he wouldn't cheat on you, Ivan?" Katyusha said with a hint of worry. Ivan just smiled and set the vodka back on the table.

"Because I'm not like this man," he said, resting his arms on his knees and leaning forward. "I think," he paused to think for a second. "I think this man beats him."

Katyusha and Feliks were silent. Katyusha looked especially uncomfortable. She was always better than most people at feeling sympathy for others. "Yeah but how could you know? Did he tell you or what?" Feliks asked.

"The first day I met him I knew. This man called Yao and he was yelling so loud that I could hear him through the speaker. He was slurring his words and it was clear he was drunk, but I couldn't say anything. It wasn't my business, was it? He yelled at Yao. Just . . . awful things. Yao was clearly trying to stay calm, but as the man just continued pounding these insults and commands into his head, he spoke louder and louder until he was almost yelling, though I don't think he realized it. Then the man hung up on him. The worry and fear on his face was nothing less than intense. Again, I don't think Yao realized how obvious it all was."

Katyusha tapped her fingernails against her candycane. "But that doesn't necessarily mean he _beats_him, Ivan," she reassured. Ivan shook his head, though.

"I hinted at him coming to see me again. I was looking at that carousel, you know, that's how I met him. He seemed so interested in it for some reason. He was, uh," Ivan chuckled to himself. "He was talking to it, I think. Though not in a weird way, if that makes sense. It was a way like I do when I'm trying to paint something and I have it in my head that I'll be able to coax beauty out of the brush with words. Anyways, he did come next time. He met me there and he had this mark on his cheek. It had to be a bruise, right on the cheekbone. It was starting to go down. It wasn't fresh. It was a few days old, I could tell. I didn't linger on it or ask about it. From the look in his eyes, it wasn't an accident. He looked so afraid. He was beautiful, too. He didn't deserve to have that bruise. He deserved better."

Feliks wasn't eating anymore. She was watching Ivan with round, glossy eyes. "What then? Did he tell you?"

Ivan made a face and nodded faintly. "He told me he had a boyfriend. But there was something in the way he said it that held so much disdain. I asked him to come with me last night. But it was tricky to arrange that, you know. He was afraid of his boyfriend. There was no doubt in my mind at this point. I had been almost positive, but after hearing his voice strain when he talked about him potentially finding out, I realized, sadly, that I had been correct in what I had assumed."

"Why doesn't he fight back or leave?" Feliks asked. Ivan got up and sat down at the piano in his living room so he could fiddle with the keys while he spoke. "I'm sure he tried and it ended so badly that he never tried again. I could be wrong, though. Maybe the man has friends that could hurt Yao, too, so if he was in jail, it wouldn't make much of a difference. He may be influential, I don't really know about him. I do know he's a prick for what he's doing, though."

Feliks sat up and looked at the floor like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Why don't you just kill him?"

Both Katyusha and Ivan shot Feliks looks and began muttering furiously in Russian.

"Don't say things like that," Katyusha said. Ivan pursed his lips and rubbed the back of his neck with a shaking hand. "I can't kill him," he said. "I'm not a killer. And this isn't a big city like Chicago where you can shoot somebody in the head and run off. This is my home now and I'm not going to mess everything up by taking someone's life."

Feliks sighed and laid on her stomach across the couch. "Alright, alright. I forgot how 'morally sound' you both are," she said. Ivan relaxed again and plucked out notes softly on the piano.

"But what are you going to do, Ivan?" Katyusha asked. Ivan smiled at her question.

"This is something he needs to do on his own. But if he asks for help, I'll help him."

* * *

><p>Feliks and Katyusha didn't leave until after two in the morning. Ivan figured he didn't mind. It was better than looking up at the ceiling for two hours until he finally fell asleep. It was a plus that they had talked about Yao, too. That was what had been on Ivan's mind lately.<p>

When he finally climbed into bed, he couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have someone beside him, even going so far as to reach out to the cool, empty spot to his right.

Ivan had been in relationships before, but none of them were satisfying. He couldn't describe it. They had just all felt so off. And half the time, it seemed like he was settling. He hadn't dated for three years because of this. He knew the relationship would seem fine at first, then later he'd realize that this wasn't what he wanted.

This time was different. He had never imagined a life with any of the men he'd dated before. It was more of a general attraction, he guessed. More animalistic than feeling an actual connection and desire to be with someone.

What he had imagined with the men in the past was sex. Quick, dirty sex. 'Making love' wasn't a term that he ever thought of with them. Dates had been warm, but they led to the same thing. Sex. The same kind of sex. Needy sex. Sex in the car, which he hated with a passion. Speedy blowjobs in busted public bathrooms. At its most satisfying moments it was still horrible.

With Yao, he could see the light peering in through his window once the sun had peeked over the horizon. He could see the ray of light, reflecting off of a thin sheen of dust, shining on Yao's cheek in the morning while he was still asleep beside him.

As a child, Ivan imagined himself as a hero of sorts. All kids do. He would stare out the car window and imagine saving an old woman from a burning building or a cat from a ledge. Things like that. And sometimes, when he found he didn't want to think about work or carousels or sex, because everyone thinks about sex, he would imagine himself saving Yao. He could see himself holding the man close, peppering him with kisses, giving him the care and love he had deserved from the start.

Sometimes he thought about sex with him, of course. Not currently, he was too tired to think of that now, but sometimes he did, and when he thought too hard, he'd have to take care of the dull throbbing between his thighs. He almost felt guilty for thinking about Yao during these moments, but he hadn't had sex in over a year, and just the thought of being able to make love to Yao was enough to make him bite down on his lip to keep from crying out when he came.

That was another thing. It wasn't sex. He didn't want sex from Yao. He wanted to make love to him. He wanted to be able to take time on him. Ivan had never been one for pleasing anybody else. Physically, that is. He did it because he felt like he had to, because it was the right thing to do. Another big difference was that he wanted to please Yao. He wanted the smaller man to feel pleasure at his hand, to be writhing and begging beneath him for more, and he'd give himself over gladly. If it made Yao happy, it would make him happy, too.

But more than anything and above all, he could see himself marrying Yao. Not anytime soon, but eventually. He could see Yao waking up in the morning with the messiest hair he'd ever seen and a tiny drool mark on the pillow. He could see him sitting down at the table and taking out a map to plan out where he wanted to go for a honeymoon. He could see Yao smiling at him while he himself specifically picked out a French city he wanted to see for the carousel there, which he'd definitely do because he was a dork for carousels. Ivan could see himself meeting Yao's family. He could see him everywhere. Sitting on the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal. Laying across the couch and reading some kind of news article aloud on his phone. Trying to play the piano downstairs.

He could see himself growing older with Yao. Holding his hand when they walked through shops and parks. Buying him flowers and beautiful things to remind him that he too was still just as beautiful. Holding him close at night while he complained about what the young people were up to nowadays. Each thought made him smile and he couldn't help but recall what Feliks had said.

It hadn't been long, just a few weeks, but somehow, he knew he had finally fallen in love.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


	7. Chapter 7

Yao was free for today. Francois had gone upstate to visit one of his cousins who had passed away. They were reading the will. That's the only reason Francois went, afterall. It wasn't because someone he cared about passed away, it was because he might get a little money out of it. He'd probably weasel his way into more than he deserved, too.

But he didn't want to think about that asshole today. He looked through his contacts and stopped when he found "Lee Zheng," which was a fake name. It was actually Ivan, but if Francois took his phone, he would actually be able to explain that Lee Zheng was his cousin. It was far easier than explaining "Ivan" to him. He could definitely just text him, but calling was faster, so he clicked the little phone next to his name and put the phone to his ear. It rang four times until he picked up.

_"Hello?"_

"Uh, hi, Ivan. It's me. Yao."

_"Da, I recognized your voice, Yao."_

"Oh. Well, I was wondering, uh, if you were busy today?"

_"I'm working, if that's what you mean. I wouldn't say I'm busy. Why?"_

Yao paced around the living room. "No reason. I mean, if you're busy it's fine."

_"Would you like to come over? I'm working on something small today and I'd like it if you kept me company."_

"I don't want to bother you, though."

Ivan laughed at that. _"You could never bother me. Come over. I'll text you the address."_

"Oh. Okay!" Yao grinned. "Do you want me to bring you anything? I'll probably stop and get coffee."

_"If you could that would be great. I take it black. Thank you very much, Yao."_

"Anytime, Ivan."

_"Do svidaniya."_

"Do- I mean, er, goodbye. Yeah." Yao heard Ivan chuckle again before hanging up. He still held the phone to his cheek though, half mortified at himself and half overjoyed. He slid his boots and coat on, ran outside, realized he forgot his keys, ran back in, grabbed his keys, and finally left with a smile playing at his lips.

* * *

><p>Yao's eyebrows furrowed as his eyes scanned over the old building. It was an old warehouse covered in red brick and a bit of graffiti here and there, though it was clearly old because it was fading. There was a fence around the perimeter, too. Yao had to push a button to cross it. He was greeted by a bright, accented voice. Katyusha's voice.<p>

"Name, please?"

He looked at the box curiously. "Uh, Yao? Yao Wang?" There was a giggle from the box and Katyusha said,

"You have to push the button to speak, Yao. I can see you though, so I'll go ahead and let you in." Yao blushed at his mistake. He was pretty sure that he was cursed to be awkward for the rest of his life. The gates finally opened and he stepped through them. They shut behind him much quicker than they had opened.

The inside of the building wasn't like anything Yao had ever seen. The entire thing was one big room with smoothed concrete floors which were just as stained with paint as the floor at the gallery. There were parts and machines and general industrialistic things everywhere he turned. There were all sorts of carousel horses. And not just horses, though. Giraffes, zebras, tigers, bears, etc., all for the carousels. The entire place smelled like burning metal, paint fumes, and fresh wood.

"Yao, over here," Ivan yelled from the left side of the building. His voice echoed through the entire room. Yao walked over to him slowly, taking in his surroundings. The closer he got to Ivan, the prettier things became. He was surrounded by vibrant horses and carriages. He reached up to touch one.

"Nyet! That one is still wet, Yao," Ivan said before he could touch the recently finished horse. Yao turned to watch Ivan, who was focusing now on a red thing held on a long metal stick in his gloved hands. He raised an eyebrow. "What is that?" Yao asked.

"This? This is a flower. It'll go behind this horses ear. They specifically wanted roses on this horse, so I've been making roses all day," he said, pressing the flower carefully to the horse. He was doing something to make it stay, but Yao couldn't tell what, exactly.

"What is it made of? Is it plastic or-"

"Glass, actually. This is just for their home, so it can be nicer."

"Oh. Here," Yao said, handing Ivan a cup of coffee. The taller man slid the gloves off of his hands and took the coffee. He drank about half of it in a few seconds. He wasn't a fan of the taste of coffee, but it was useful for energy, especially considering the fact that he had to stay all day and finish up two more horses.

"Thank you, Yao," he said, smiling. "So what's the lie today? You've managed to come see me."

Yao laughed nervously and sat on a wooden stool. "Francois had to go see his family upstate. He won't be back till late tonight." Yao took off his coat and tossed it onto a table closest to him. "I don't want to talk about him, though."

Ivan nodded understandingly. They were both silent for a moment until Yao spoke up again.

"So can you only make roses with the glass or can you make other flowers? Do you only make flowers?"

Ivan smiled at him again. "I can make other things, but I have to make flowers more than anything else. I can do most flowers."

"Can you do sunflowers?" Yao asked without thinking. He wasn't sure why he liked sunflowers so much. It was one of those things that was easy to pick as a favorite because you actually knew what it stood for. Sun. Flower. Sunflower. Simple, yet beautiful.

Ivan nodded, slid the gloves on, and grabbed the metal stick again. Yao leaned over his shoulder and watched as he crafted a small glass sunflower. It was about the size of Yao's palm when finished, but it was definitely still too hot to touch. Yao sat in the chair again, feeling somewhat disappointed in himself. "You're so good at things like this, Ivan. I could never do any of this. I'm lucky if I paint a wall correctly," Yao said. Ivan chuckled and shook his head. "That isn't true, Yao. Here, let me show you." Ivan walked over to the table covered in paints and picked up a small brush. He handed it to Yao along with a hand-sized jar of paint. Yao almost broke into a sweat over this.

"I wasn't joking, Ivan. I'm terrible. Please tell me you aren't going to make me paint any part of this horse," he said, his face turning bright red. He hadn't painted since high school, and even then he wasn't good.

Ivan stood behind Yao and pointed at the inside of a fake ear. "Just paint the inside with this colour. I promise it will be fine. And even if you mess up, I can just paint over it. But you won't mess up." Yao bit his lip and gripped the paintbrush, nearly snapping it in half. He dipped the tip of the brush into the pinkish-grey paint. He took a few deep breaths, in and out, in and out. He was surprised that Ivan wasn't making fun of him. The closer he brought the brush to the horse, the more his hand shook. _Someone is paying for this and I'm going to ruin it, _Yao thought.

He tried to get his hand to stop shaking for one moment so he could land one stroke, but before he could do it himself, Ivan's hand wrapped around his own and the brush. "There's no need to be nervous," Ivan said, steadying Yao's hand enough to allow him to paint the small area on the horse. Yao wasn't focusing on that, though. He was focusing on the body he could feel against his own and the soft, careful breaths in his ear. He wanted to lean back against Ivan. That was his first reaction. But he stopped himself just before his head was resting on Ivan's shoulder.

"Now just one more, and . . . there," Ivan said, practically moving Yao's hand for him. But Yao didn't mind at all. He was just happy that Ivan's hand was around his and he could hear his gentle voice. He wanted to stay like that forever. He felt sleepy, but a good kind of sleepy where everything was relaxing, soothing, and he was drifting off to somewhere better. He was brought back to reality when Ivan released his hand and put the paint and paintbrush away.

Yao didn't look away from the horse. He didn't even blink. He wanted this moment to last a bit longer even if he had to make it last himself. As he stood there he felt a hand on his right shoulder. Once he glanced over his shoulder and saw that nobody was there, he felt warm lips on his left cheek. He turned so quick he was sure he'd sprained his neck.

"Did you just . . . ?"

"Hm? No. That's crazy. I've been standing over here the whole time," Ivan said as seriously as possible. Yao pouted, a smile playing at his lips. He pushed Ivan playfully and sat on the stool again. "Well, jokes on you, Ivan, because I actually liked it," Yao said, grinning. Ivan raised an eyebrow at that and stood behind Yao with his arms crossed.

Yao almost turned around to see what Ivan was doing, _almost_, but he stopped when he felt a warm hand on the side of his neck and soft lips kissing from his cheek down to his jaw. He didn't speak. He was surprised he was even breathing. He shut his eyes and welcomed each kiss by tilting his head back, allowing Ivan to trail warm kisses down his neck. When he stopped, Yao opened his eyes to see that Ivan was in front of him now. Strong arms had lifted him from the stool and wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly.

It felt amazing to be held. It felt even better knowing that it was Ivan who was holding him. He threw his arms around Ivan's neck without a second thought. His face was flush against his warm shoulder. He smelled a lot like burnt toffee. Like burnt sugar, almost. But more like toffee than anything. Yao smiled and peppered Ivan's neck with kisses. "Thank you, Ivan," he said. He might have sounded stupid, but he felt like it was important to say 'thank you' for this. If Ivan knew how it lifted Yao's spirits to be held like this, he would understand.

Ivan, of course, despite what Yao thought, understood why the smaller man had thanked him. He smiled when he felt lips on his own neck. He was glad he'd invited Yao over; rather, he was glad Yao had called to see if he was busy.

"I really like you, Ivan. I don't care if you disagree with me, I think you're a great man," Yao said, holding onto Ivan tighter. Ivan pursed his lips, but knew better than to argue with that statement, so instead he said, "I like you, too, Yao." That was a lie.

He loved Yao. It wasn't as simple as just _liking _him. He wished he could have had the courage to tell him that, but he didn't want to scare him away. He wasn't sure if he was good at any of this. He'd never had to think about telling another man he'd loved him before. In a romantic sense, that is.

But he was holding him. He was holding the man he loved and his thin arms were resting on his shoulders. Yao wasn't looking at him like he was crazy for coming onto him like this. He rested his hand gently on the back of Yao's head and pulled away just slightly, so he could look at him, though he almost wished he hadn't.

Yao's brown eyes, normally peaceful and occasionally bright, were glossed over. The whites of his eyes were tinted pink along with the tips of his ears and his nose. Yao stifled a small cry and swallowed his tears, but not his pride. He couldn't cry in front of Ivan. He didn't want to seem weak or like his sadness was Ivans doing. He flashed a reassuring smile and aplogized over and over again to Ivan, who shook his head.

"You don't need to be sorry over something like this, Yao," he said with a little smile. That almost made it worse. He wasn't crying because he was sad, he was crying because he was so happy that there was someone in this world who could still look at him like he wasn't broken, like he wasn't a busted and bruised man. Ivan looked at him like he was the most pure, radiant thing this earth had to offer. Like he was worth more than he himself thought he was worth. When he was around him, he didn't feel like he was going to be thirty soon. He felt like he had just gotten out of school, like he was still eighteen. Like he hadn't even met Francois yet.

"Ivan, I . . . I . . . " Yao pressed a warm hand to Ivans cheek. He didn't know what he was doing or saying, but before he could hesitate any more, he leaned in and kissed him.

* * *

><p>When Yao came home that night, he was smiling. He hadn't stopped smiling since he'd kissed Ivan. The world felt wonderful and glorious and he wished everyone could feel the way he felt at this very moment.<p>

Yao took some takeout from the fridge and grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer. This was really the best day he'd had in months. He ate, though quickly because he was so excited, then went to his room. It was best to be asleep before Francois came home.

Thinking of Francois made his stomach drop, but he had to be constantly aware at all times. He locked his door and undressed down to his underwear. Normally he wore clothes to bed, but he was too lazy to put more on. He looked at the scarf he'd thrown on the floor.

It was Ivans scarf, actually. He had said something about it being cold outside and he'd given him the scarf. It sounded casual, but it didn't seem casual when he wrapped it around Yao's neck. It seemed important, somehow. He picked it up again. It didn't belong on the floor with the rest of his clothes. As he sat on his bed, he wrapped the scarf around his forearm.

He didn't want to be weird, but the scarf smelled like Ivan, and it was comforting. He wanted to sleep with the scarf on. He curled up into a ball and cradled the arm that was wrapped in the scarf. He fell asleep that way, with a piece of Ivan next to him.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


	8. Chapter 8

Yao had worked all day and he was exhausted. It was a little past eleven. Mei had wanted to talk about Ivan after work and he'd been willing to do so. He didn't mind, he supposed. He liked talking about him and he knew Mei wouldn't tell a soul.

He pushed the screen door open. He didn't see Francois anywhere. Thank goodness for that. Maybe he'd drunk himself into his grave. No, he wasn't that lucky. He fixed the scarf around his neck and tossed his coat onto the couch for now. He pulled his hair out of the band that was holding it together. He ran his fingers through it, gave it a quick shake, and sat on the couch. Shower. He needed a shower. He started to walk towards the bathroom, but stopped when he heard a voice to his right.

"You left your phone at home," Francois said calmly. Too calmly. Yao gulped and turned to him.

"Yeah I must have forgotten it," he said as casually as possible. He sat down hesitantly and pretended to watch whatever was on the tv. It looked like the cooking channel, which was weird, but he didn't question it. He could see Francois walking towards him from the corner of his eye.

"There's a lock on it. Unlock it," the Frenchman said, tossing the phone onto the couch. Yao looked at his phone and panicked. Francois wanted to go through his phone. He hadn't done it in so long that he'd forgotten to delete the texts between himself and Ivan. They didn't text a lot at all, but enough for Francois to know something was going on. And the address to Ivan's work was there, too, and Francois would most likely go there, even if Yao begged him not to, to see where Yao had been going while Francois was away. He was doomed if he unlocked the phone.

On the other hand, he was also doomed. He could easily refuse to unlock the phone, but then it would be just as evident that he was hiding something.

But if he did, Ivan could potentially be in danger. So that was it. He wasn't going to unlock it.

"Did you fucking hear me?" Francois yelled. "Unlock the goddamn phone!"

Yao stood up. He could try to run. That was the best option now. He grabbed his phone, walked casually as if he was walking to the kitchen, then he turned and pushed open the screen door.

He really should have known he couldn't get away. He had ran, ran as fast as he could, but as soon as he opened his car door, he realized he'd forgotten his keys, and before he could run again, Francois had slammed the car door shut and grabbed him by his hair. He pushed him up the porch and into the house again. Once they were inside, he released him to shut and lock the door. He then slid Yao's keys into his pocket. "You better explain what the fuck that was," Francois demanded. "Are you hiding something?"

Yao shook his head and looked around, searching for a possible escape. There were many, but not any that he'd have time to get to and use. So he backed up into the wall in front of the fireplace. He watched Francois walk towards him, but this was different from all the times before.

Francois didn't smell like alcohol. He wasn't dragging himself along. He stood erect, chin high, eyes burning with anger. He wasn't drunk, and nothing had frightened Yao more. He tried to run down the hallway, but hands were gripping his shoulders. "Let go. Please. Just let go."

Francois took a calm breath but didn't release Yao. "Unlock the phone, Yao. If you do, I'll let go," he said. His voice was sugary. Too sugary for comfort. It made Yao's stomach churn. He couldn't give Francois his phone. He couldn't let him see that he was talking to someone else and he couldn't give him access to that address. He shook his head, earning a sort of sighed chuckle from Francois.

Yao knew this wasn't going to end here. It couldn't end this well.

Francois grabbed the front of Yao's shirt and punched him. Despite knowing it was coming, Yao squeaked. Normally, he was hit twice. Maybe three times. So it was no surprise when Francois hit him again. But it was a surprise when he hit him again, and again, and again, until blood seeped into the corners of his mouths and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"You brought this on yourself. This is what happens when you sleep around like a whore," Francois said as he kneed Yao in the stomach. Yao gasped and held his stomach. He had to be done beating him. He had to be finished with this. He was crying so hard he couldn't breathe and his own blood was choking him. He could taste salty, warm iron. His face ached. His stomach ached.

Francois clutched his shirt tighter and slammed Yao's head into the wall, hard enough that there was a crack, though Yao wasn't sure if it was his head or the wall. Francois wasn't done. He wasn't going to be done for a while, and Yao had to go. He had to try to run for it. If Francois caught up to him and beat him until he couldn't breathe anymore, then that was fate. But he had to try to live. If not for himself, for Ivan.

Yao kicked Francois in the crotch as hard as he could. Francois yelled something in French and released him. He didn't have time to do anything else to the other man. He looked at the front door, intending to go out that way, but Francois had locked it from the inside, too, with a lock that Yao needed a key for. He let out a strangled cry when he realized that the closest door was the basement door.

He didn't care. He pushed open the basement door and ran down as quickly as possible. He clicked the lights on, though. He had to have the lights on. He couldn't deal with the dark. He had a fear of the dark that was only beaten, barely, by his fear of Francois. Especially the darkness in this particular basement. When he reached the bottom, Yao heard the basement door open again, but he heard no footsteps. He turned to see Francois holding a knife, and he almost ran, but the knife wasn't pointed at him. It was pointed at the exposed wires on the wall. Yao's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. "No," he whispered. "No. No! Wait, don't-"

Francois cut through the wires in one smooth cut, then slammed the door shut, leaving Yao in the pitch black basement. Yao's heart was beating too fast. He ran up to open the door, but it was locked. The only light he could see was coming from the bottom of the door, and it was just a small white line. Useless.

Yao ran a shaking hand through his hair and glanced over his shoulder very hesitantly. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to look back. He didn't want to look into the darkness anymore. He didn't want to turn around, dammit. But he did. He turned and faced the darkness of the basement with a small, gurgled cry.

Wait. He had his phone. He took it out. The battery was only at 2%. He could call someone? No, he didn't want anyone to get hurt. They would if they tried to come here.

Windows. There were two windows in the basement. One was boarded up, but the other wasn't. Yao started down the stairs. He tried to remember that darkness was just the absence of light. That was all. Everything was the same in the dark, it was just coloured black now. It was all just painted black. That's how Ivan would have seen it.

He could see blue light from a rectangle close to the ceiling. He made his way towards it, trying hard to ignore the darkness creeping in on him and the eerie noises. Once he reached the window, he reached up. He could barely touch the window with his fingertips. He needed something to stand on. Anything. But he knew the basement was bare besides the washer and dryer and an old laundry basket that would break if he tried standing on it.

Yao glanced at the door to the bathroom. Well, it was over in that area. He couldn't actually see. He walked that way, groping the wall until he felt a cool doorknob. He pushed it open and flipped the lightswitch on. He nearly cried when two lightbulbs flickered to life. He couldn't see much, but it was better than nothing. He could see outlines in the basement. He looked in the bathroom for something to stand on, but nothing in the bathroom was moveable. The only thing that was moveable was the washer and dryer.

Yao wasn't sure he had the strength to push the dryer, but he really needed something to stand on. So he stumbled over to the dryer and unplugged it. He'd have to go slow or he might scrape the floor and make a sound. Then Francois would come downstairs and beat him to death and he might never see Ivan again.

He wiped away his tears and pushed the dryer. It moved an inch. He needed it to move ten feet.

It took Yao ten minutes to silently push the dryer to the window. He felt like he was going to pass out and little drops of blood were still dripping from his nostrils. He wiped them away and climbed onto the dryer. He pushed on the window. It wouldn't budge. He pushed harder. Still nothing. He wasn't sure when, but the window had been sealed around the edges. He stopped to cry for a second before jumping off, falling slightly, and going into the bathroom again. He looked around for something hard, something that would break a window. He thought about using a can of hairspray at first, but if he unscrewed the showerhead, it would work better.

He climbed onto the dryer, clutching the showerhead. He didn't hold back at all when he hit the window, and because of that the glass instantly shattered. He pushed out a few stubborn pieces and dropped the showerhead. It was a little difficult to climb out, but he managed. His head was pounding. He had to go. He had to . . . he had to . . .

He almost passed out. He dropped to his knees before catching himself. He just had to run. He stood and ran faster than he'd ever ran before in his entire life. He used every ounce of energy he had left. He was counting on pure adrenaline, too. He didn't feel the cool air whipping his cheeks. He didn't feel the pain in his stomach and he didn't taste the blood settling on his tongue. He had to go. He just had to go.

* * *

><p>Ivan cleaned the cut he had gotten the day before. It wasn't too deep, but it was deep enough that he needed to be making sure it didn't get infected. He probably should have gotten stitches, but he didn't want to waste time. So now he was pouring rubbing alcohol into it, wiping it away, and so on.<p>

He could hear his phone ringing. He looked around for a second, then remembered it was in his bedroom. He picked it up off of his bed and looked at the small name across the screen. _Yao._ As he took the call, he wondered why Yao was calling him at this hour. He really hoped it wasn't for anything serious.

"Hello?"

_"Calbury. I'm on Calbury across from, uh, th-that church with the brick front. I think it says . . . er, I can't . . . I think it says baptist church. I can't-"_

"Yao, slow down. What's wrong?"

Ivan heard what sounded like a wince from the other end. _"Calbury. In the box. At the bus stop. Please, Ivan. Come get me, please"_

There was a click and Ivan knew Yao had hung up. Calbury. Calbury Avenue? He grabbed his keys from his dresser and walked downstairs, hoping still that this wasn't something as serious as it seemed to be.

The ride there was painful. His worries grew the closer he got to the bus stop on Calbury. He hadn't been too concerned at first, but he kept thinking about the possibilities. They were endless. Maybe someone had tried to kill him. Maybe he had been raped or something. Maybe he had tried to kill himself.

Ivan had seen, as many others would phrase it, some fucked up shit before. So why was he so panicked now?

See, that was it. That was the problem with love, he realized. You care so much about something or someone and when it is taken away or there is a risk of it being taken away, you break.

And as much as he hated to admit it, that risk was always present. All things, especially the good things, must come to an end eventually, be it five hours or fifty years. The real question was when? When was he going to have to feel the pain that came with love?

Not tonight, he thought as he parked his car in the church parking lot across from the boxed in bus stop. It was one of the clear bus stops, built into a little shelter so the people who rode the city buses wouldn't have to stand in the rain while they waited. He could see a silhouette on the bench, average sized, though not moving. He didn't hesitate in any way. He ran to the box and looked in to see Yao's body slumped against the side of the box. He wasn't wearing a coat, just a sweater. His hands were bright red along with his cheeks and nose, though the parts of him that weren't blushed were bruised. His bottom lip was busted along with his eye, which was swollen.

Ivan didn't bother waking him up. He picked him up as carefully as he could and sat him in his car. The first thing he did was turn on the heat full blast. He then buckled Yao up and got in the car himself. He didn't think he would need to on the way here, but he had to take Yao to the hospital.

He would just have to wait to ask Yao about this, though he had an idea of who did this, and as he glanced at his glovebox, he couldn't help but feel consumed by the rage that surged through his veins.

* * *

><p><em>To Be Continued . . . <em>


End file.
